Words, words, purple words.

The scribblings and reading log of Kara Kratcha. I can't buy all of the books, so I hoard them here. Sometimes I write something I want to type up, too. For my more tumblr-y tumblr, please visit witchesonabus.tumblr.com.

“Let me take a moment to imagine you, reader, so that I can address you and your needs to the best of my ability: you might be a book lover, a lonely internet wanderer, or a soon-to-be displaced homeowner in search of a good moving van service. You might be a publisher who somehow found this page with some very specific and possibly misguided search terms. Perhaps you’re a media studies academic with research interests in how Luddite English majors manage to create websites. More likely, you’re someone who clicked on a link from one of my social media profiles and would not otherwise take notice of a mostly empty blog that claims to cover small press publishing. That’s fine. I’m still glad you’re here. In fact, I hope you’ll read this and maybe share the link and then come back on Monday to check out our first review.”

Welcome to MDR (via movingdayreview)

Passed on both of these FP titles to friends after I read them, which is probably the highest praise I can give a book.

Quick read (one commute and back). Highly recommended even though I don’t normally like reading plays. I felt all of the English major feels. ETA: Thanks sexmakesthepeoplegoaway for lending it to me.

Quick read (one commute and back). Highly recommended even though I don’t normally like reading plays. I felt all of the English major feels. ETA: Thanks sexmakesthepeoplegoaway for lending it to me.

this is a poem i wrote in 2009. it’s slightly embarrassing, but also i kinda of still like it a little bit. just a little, in that there’s still some truth to it, even if the words are inelegant. it was my facebook “about me” for a while (because i was a little shit in a different way from now in high school).

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and i’m in every bed i didn’t sleep in like this. probably 10pm in wisconsin when a car drives by the street behind ours and casts slatted light on the ceiling through the blinds. i have books to write about and i didn’t and now it’s past bedtime and i’m not sleeping. a lonely bunk bed in colorado. i remember wondering, but why does the baby need her own room? all she ever does is sleep. two in the same bunk bed in oklahoma and what if my teddy bear got ripped in two? what could i do without him? certainly nothing, child, and certainly not sleep with that thought. he’s in one of those torture suits with the spikes inside and they’re going to take all of his fluff out and then what? god. more light through a window on a ceiling at god knows what time in austin. i always slept in germany, i think. a big bed in a chicago suburb a smaller bed in the same house but earlier. little one in the same room. another big bed in another colorado, same other little body. two twin beds in florida and soon you’ll have to go back to school and you have homework to do never mind the beach. a motel a motel a motel and snoring. anxious in the forest house. no outside contact. call your sister.